


Unmasked

by profound-boning (farawaystardust)



Series: Halloween ficlets [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - No supernatural, Alternate Universe - Office, CEO Dean, Cinderella-esque, Costume Party, Dean Loves Han Solo, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Literary Discussion, M/M, Mail Carrier Castiel, Mutual Pining, Office Party, Office crush, Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc., Shy Castiel, Two Person Love Triangle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 19:50:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8414362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farawaystardust/pseuds/profound-boning
Summary: "I couldn't help but notice your costume earlier. Please don't laugh, but, what exactly are you?"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Deep conversations and wow I wonder what you look like under that scary mask AU

Of course Bela Talbot would be hosting the most lavish Halloween party imaginable.

When he was given the embossed paper invitation, Dean had legitimately thought it was a joke. Both the invite and the posh-ness of it all.

When Bela informed him that yes, everyone who works for Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc. is invited, and yes, everyone must wear costumes, and yes, there will be food, he gave in and agreed to attend.

Nevermind that the cute mail delivery guy had insisted that yes they were quite real and everyone was strongly encouraged to attend. Dean had been more than a little distracted by the wide blue eyes and tousled dark hair of said cute mail delivery guy to really follow the finer points of the conversation in detail anyway.

He's not certain he likes Bela or any of the upper-upper-management crowd, but his co-workers and friends are great, and if they're all going, then he'll get dolled up and stuff his face for an evening. Why not? The Director of Sales and Marketing should be allowed to unwind on a holiday.

Dean pretends of course that he's not desperately wishing to see a certain man from the mail room in attendance, even though he knows very well that this party will only be worthwhile if he gets to see that handsome face for longer than their current interactions allow.

At this exact moment of his daydreaming, Jo Harvelle, Director of Finance, pokes her head around his office door.

"Put down the health shake, Smith, we're going out."

"Out?" He looks dubiously at her from behind a stack of reports.

"Yes, out. It's lunchtime and you're not staying cooped up in here a minute longer," Jo approaches his desk and plants her hands firmly on it.

"Jo we went out yesterday and the day before. Right now I need to get some work done."

Of course, he hadn't precisely been working diligently right before she walked in, what Jo doesn't know won't hurt her.

She studies his face for a moment, a slight frown on her young face. "Alright," she finally relents but without dropping the hard glare of her dark eyes. "But this means you're coming costume shopping with me and Charlie after work tomorrow. No take-backs. Bye!"

And with that, she flies back out into the hallway. Dean gapes after her for a moment before realizing he'd been duped by his two best friends.

The rest of the day passes without incident and the morning of the shopping adventure is auspiciously pleasant. It's Charlie who arrives at his office in the afternoon, bright hair swinging from a ponytail as she bounces into a hug, dragging him out the door behind her.

The trio catches the bus downtown and meanders into the brightly lit but still kind of tacky costume store.

The two women have way too much fun finding increasingly ridiculous costumes for Dean to try on. He'll never (never ever) admit to how much he liked wearing the cowboy costume and insists on something less stupid.

Jo has chosen a classic witch get up for herself while Charlie and her girlfriend Gilda will be going as a medieval knight and fairy princess respectively. Their other friends like Sam from IT and Benny from security will be sporting giant pumpkin and vampire costumes. Everyone is ready, except for Dean.

That's when Charlie spots the perfect choice, hanging just out of their reach, which is why it had been hidden from them until now.

As soon as Dean sees himself in the mirror, he knows it's perfect.

The night of the big event, the six friends arrive around the same time and enter together in a show of camaraderie. Their eyes collectively pop at the enormous chandelier, the huge fountain, and the other posh decor.

They make their way around, politely greeting everyone, complimenting costumes, and exchanging idle chit-chat.

Eventually, Dean is standing by a large window overlooking a lovely garden behind the house (mansion?) when he is approached by a horrifying creature. He even reaches for the very fake plastic gun in his holster before remembering that he's at a company Halloween party and no his life is not in any danger right now.

"Hello," comes a deep, lovely voice from beneath the wolfish mask. And if the sound of the simple greeting doesn't do wonders for Dean's libido, he doesn't know what will.

"Hey," he replies, taking another sip of the whiskey he's been nursing. The fact that this is his second glass means he's feeling a little warm all over already, and this guy's staring is not doing anything to lower the temperature.

"I couldn't help but notice your costume earlier. Please don't laugh, but, what exactly are you?"

Dean blinks at the man/wolf opposite him.

"You—. Buddy. Star Wars?" Yellowed eyes look back at him from the frankly terrifying mask. "I can't believe you've never seen Star Wars, man. They're classics! And I'm dressed as the best damn pilot in the galaxy, Han Solo."

He gestures to himself and relishes the way the other man's eyes rake over his body before taking another sip of his drink. Dean knows these dark blue pants look great on him, not to mention the off-white shirt that clings to his arms. He works hard to maintain his physique and damn it all if he's not going to take pride in it right now.

"I see," the voice says quietly. "Tell me, is he the hero of the films?"

Dean huffs a laugh before setting the empty glass down on one end of the long buffet table to his left. "That is a very, very good question. It depends on how you define heroes, anti-heroes, redemption, all that kind of stuff."

He expects the other man to just nod indulgently and move on to another line of questioning. (Dean certainly wants to know about his costume choice, how long it took to put on, and, if he's still got any game at all, how long it'll take to get off.) But his wolf head merely tilts to the side and waits quietly.

"Please go on," the man says after a moment, his gravel deep voice resonating pleasantly in the hum of the busy room.

"I—. Well, all right." Dean certainly isn't going to turn down an opportunity to divulge his knowledge of the Star Wars universe.

The other man does not tire of Dean's words nor does he passively listen, instead asking questions and making connections to other anti-heroes, asking about Dean's knowledge of characters like Malcolm Reynolds and Holden Caulfield. Dean is impressed by the other man's thoughts and elated that he can make use of the Literature minor he earned in college.

The wolfman asks Dean about studying business and how he got started with Sandover. (What does a director of Sales and Marketing even _do?)_

Conversation flows easily between them after that, everywhere but into personal matters for the other man. Dean says plenty about himself but doesn't want to push his new friend (friend?) too hard.

He's still pleasantly buzzed and what had just been fiery lust is now a delicious simmering beneath his skin, an actual desire for not just this man's body but also his smart mouth and quick wit filling him up.

"Hey.” Dean realizes with a start. "I don't even know your name." Is he really that impolite? Or just drunker than he thinks he is?

The wolf mask doesn't cover the tan neck that is currently flushing red at Dean's question. "Um. Sorry, hold on a second. I have to use the bathroom." And just like that, he rushes away. Dean stands there for a few seconds, staring after him in utter disbelief before his feet remember to move.

Once he reaches the hallway, he finds it empty. There's not even a bathroom this way. What the hell?

Dean moves back to the main room. He scans the crowd, giving a smile and a little wave to Jo when he meets her eye, but not spotting the endearing, funny, and delightful man with whom he'd been chatting for—damn, has it really been two hours since they'd arrived?

After locating Sam and explaining the situation they make a lap around the party room. But Dean is forced to admit that his conversation partner simply vanished. He's sullen for the rest of the evening.

Sleep does not come easy that night. For the first time since high school, Dean is up for many hours tossing and turning, wondering about the intoxicating man at the party.

It seems completely stupid in retrospect that he let it get that far before he even considered the fact that he knew so little about the man. Dean knows that he is studying for an advanced degree in Theology at the University of Chicago, and he's only been working at Sandover for about nine months. (Dean only realizes now that he'd totally ignored Dean's question about what department he works in.)

Dean shamelessly wonders about his body. Even beneath the elaborate costume, Dean could see the guy was clearly fit, built like a runner. The yellow eyes were definitely the effect of contact lenses but Dean felt sure he hadn't imagined the way electricity sparked within them while they talked. He stood just one or two inches shorter than Dean and had a voice like heaven.

He couldn't be sure now that that was his real voice, however, since his laugh had been unmistakably brighter and lighter. He didn't know how to explain but Dean was certain the guy had been purposefully disguising his voice.

A mystery man had intentionally avoided personal questions and disguised not only his entire face but even his eyes and his voice, and then had a lengthy and deep conversation with Dean Smith for an hour and a half at their office’s holiday party.

What the hell kind of soap opera is Dean starring in anyway?

The following work week shouldn't be awful, but it is. Every person who crosses his path gets thoroughly examined, sussed out. Did you go to the party? What was your costume again? It turns out quite a few people saw him talking to the werewolf but no one knows who the man beneath the mask was.

Dean couldn't focus on any of his actual work for too long before his thoughts drift to the body heat, the jokes, their hands brushing together, the memory of that laugh.

It’s that laugh that finally breaks through the fog.

Well over a week after the party, Dean's office door had been left ajar after Becky Rosen flitted in and out again when suddenly it’s there, ringing out from the hallway.

Dean stands up at his desk in alarm. He knows that laugh. The sound goes straight through his ears and into his heart, making his ribs ache for how quickly it’s beating. He does the only thing that he can do and rushes out the door.

And there in the hallway is Becky talking to the world's most beautiful mail delivery guy. His head tilted back and eyes squeezed shut, he'd clearly been quite amused with something. And Dean is positively gaping at him.

The laugh he hasn't been able to stop thinking about is bubbling up from none other than the man with whom Dean has been absolutely enamored since their very first meeting.

If Becky thought anything was weird she didn't mention it, simply thanking Castiel (Castiel?) and bidding both him and Dean a good day.

And then the man is turning to face Dean. He looks... Embarrassed? Flustered? Dean exhales and reaches up to smooth down his hair.

"Your name is Castiel? You never told me that before." Well, that was a stupid thing to say. But it was certainly better than 'I've been dreaming about you all week' which was what he wanted to say.

The blush high on his cheeks makes Castiel look even more adorable. "I—. Yes, it's possible I forgot to mention that. But you never asked either, Mr. Smith."

Cheeky son of a gun. "That's not fair, my name's on the door."

"Very true. I, um, have some things here for you." And just like that this conversation was moving back to their work. Dean can't let that happen.

"Yeah about that. How long have you been working here, Castiel? It's only been the last couple of quarters I think. Is about nine months right?" That piece certainly fit, and the blush deepening on Castiel’s face gave the answer away. "I mean it's great, we've never had such an efficient mailroom before."

"Thank you, Mr. Smith. I would compliment you on your work if I had the foggiest notion of what it is you do exactly."

"I think you know now." He smiles. "And please, call me Dean." Goddamn if that blush isn't the cutest thing he's ever seen on a grown man.

"All—all right. Dean." Castiel thrusts the papers in his hands into Dean's and makes like he's going to go back down the hallway. Wait, why are they still standing in the hallway?

"Castiel, would you come inside for a moment?"

Castiel ducks his head and follows, dragging the mail cart with him. Dean shuts the door behind them and turns to face him, and they stare at each other in silence for a few moments.

When it seems that Castiel isn't going to say anything, Dean finally spits out, "Did you—were you at the Halloween party? Everyone was invited, you told me yourself."

"Yes," is the quiet affirmative.

Dean takes a step forward. "And were you dressed as a werewolf?"

Castiel's shoulders seem to shrink in on themselves. "Please, Mr. Smith, I—Dean, I didn't mean to keep talking at you like that. I'm really sorry. I just saw you by the window and your costume was—it was cool but I knew it was a reference that I wasn’t getting and I thought I'd ask you about it. I'm sorry. We—we've never really talked much outside of talking about the mail but you're always so polite about it so I—." He’s rambling but still won't meet Dean's eyes. Does he think that Dean's upset?

"Castiel. Cas—can I call you Cas?" Dean gets a short nod in response. "Cas, I don't know what you think you're apologizing for. I wanted to thank you."

Cas’s jaw might've hit the floor for how surprised he looks. "Really?"

"Really." Dean grins. "It was great to talk to you. You were" _—enchanting, mesmerizing, captivating, engaging, charming, irresistible, fascinating_ —"awesome."

Very smooth, Smith, very smooth.

Cas is smiling a little at him now. "I—. That's—. Thank you, Mis—Dean. Dean." And boy oh boy does Dean love the way his name sounds in Cas's mouth. His eyes drop to those plush pink lips and he realizes just how close together they are standing. Why on Earth would he back up?

Unless Cas doesn't want this too. Dean would back right the hell up if this is unwanted, but he's hoping he is wanted just as much as he is wanting.

"Think we can get back to that?" He manages to ask between very unhelpful and somewhat inappropriate thoughts of 'I want to push you against that cart and kiss you breathless' and 'I want to take you home and ravish you' and 'can we just get in my car and go away together'. "Talking to you was really fun and we don't have to stop just because your eyes are blue again and I'm not wearing a fake gun holster."

"You did look dashing in that outfit. But y-you do put together some excellent shirt and tie combos as well. If I may say so."

Dean absolutely loves that blush. He takes another step and smiles back, green eyes on blue ones just enjoying their proximity again. How had he not known right away that this man was so special?

"Can I say something a little ridiculous?" Dean feels bold and Cas looks curious, that handsome face tilted ever so slightly and looking up at him now that they're standing less than a foot apart. "I, uh, I've been asking around all week trying to find out who you were. I couldn't stop thinking about you—who you were and what you looked like underneath that mask. And—." He takes a deep breath. "I'm glad it was you, Castiel."

Cas is beaming at him now, his hands hovering at his sides, and Dean reaches for them, wrapping his wide fingers around Cas's tanned ones.

"I had no idea that my affections would be reciprocated." Cas ducks his head shyly. "I really thought my only chance to talk to you would be while I was wearing a mask. You're way out of my league and—."

Incredulous, Dean shushes Cas’s self-deprecation gently. “Cas,” he starts, his eyes drawn to those pale pink lips once more. “May I kiss you?”

“You may.”

And so it begins with a gentle kiss that afternoon, and every year thereafter they celebrate Halloween with whiskey and a Star Wars marathon. But now Dean doesn’t need to dress up like Han Solo in order to kiss Cas senseless.


End file.
